It’s a big, bold, entertainingly disruptive blast of a record with a mirror-ball lure, refracting everything from Motown to early ’80s disco and funk, boom bap, ’90s piano house and contemporary R&B (to which Garbus’s powerful, multi-tasking voice is brilliantly suited), which loses none of their oddness or playfulness, but puts issues such as race and cultural identity, privilege, intersectional feminism and looming ecological disaster under the lyrical spotlight.

Walker seems to have set himself one of the hardest tasks any artist can ask themselves: what would happen if we let down all our defences and made the art that really resides inside? You can tell that he’s still searching on Deafman Glance, but even its occasional missed steps feel instructive, somehow, as though Walker’s getting closer to the core of the matter, breaking through into new personal terrain.